Little Lambs
by BeautifulFiction
Summary: They were like lambs to the slaughter, and Ed was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Roy/Ed.


**Warnings: Language, mild gore, dark themes and implied sex scenes.**

**

* * *

  
**

_Author's Note: I don't intend to give any offence by the portrayal of the Gothic individuals in this piece. This work is not intended to suggest that Goths are vulnerable, drug using teens and youths, nor to make light of a complex culture. It is in fact written almost solely for the purpose of getting Ed out of that red coat and into something a bit more … intriguing. Thank you for reading!_

_

* * *

  
_

This place didn't have a name, not officially, but regulars called it "The Pyre". Supposedly it was a bar, but alcohol wasn't the only thing they served. Incense thickened the hot, breathless air, but it didn't hide the tell-tale fragrance of drug smoke. Faint, discordant music played in the background. No one was trying to dance; that wasn't what these people did. They reclined on cushions on the floor or lounged in comfortable chairs, some speaking, others staring into space as they listened or lost themselves in their own daydreams.

Ed had seen Goths before. They dressed in black, dark crimson and deepest blues, completely at odds with Central's current fashions. Before now he hadn't paid much attention to them. They were just people, so what if they looked a bit different? With a metal arm and leg he was hardly one to talk about conformity. Those he had spoken to seemed friendly enough, but none of them had been like the patrons in this place. They'd had hope and purpose.

These men and women had nothing. They weren't trying to make a statement with what they wore or how they looked. They were just trying to escape. Most weren't much older than him, but they looked like vulnerable kids, drunk or drugged or both. If someone told them to jump off a bridge, most of them would do it without question.

And somewhere among them was a man who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of their helplessness.

An ex-state alchemist called Booker was preying on the drinkers and addicts here, using them as fuel for his experiments. He tempted them out into the city, promising them fuck knew what before making sure they were too high to know right from left and using them in... . Ed forced his expression to stay clear and blissful as his stomach turned. He had seen the arrays drawn around a rumpled double bed – blood splashed bright red across white silk sheets and pooling on the floor..

Alchemy and sex were a powerful combination, and Ed could see why the pervert had chosen this place to find his targets. Everywhere he looked there were flashes of skin, nothing explicit, but they suggested so much more. In theory an alchemist who activated an array after penetration could make use of their partner's energy to fuel the transmutation. Slitting their throats wasn't necessary. Perhaps that was just how Booker got off. There were four dead bodies in the alchemist's basement, male and female, all blonde and under eighteen. One hadn't been dead more than a day.

Booker would be looking for his next target, and it seemed like the natural conclusion for Ed to act as bait. He matched the profile of the victims, and even if he didn't catch the killer's attention then at least he was at his favourite hunting ground. With any luck, Ed would be able to make sure that no one else suffered the same fate as the others. At least, he would if the fucker showed up. He'd been hanging around since midnight, almost six hours, and there was still no sign of him.

He took another sip from his glass, licking his lips as if enjoying the taste. To anyone who was watching he had been drinking spirits all night, but there was nothing worse than coloured water in the tumbler. The guy behind the bar was keeping him supplied, his cooperation guaranteed by the threat of a raid from the police if he did not comply.

A movement in the corner of Ed's vision made him pause, and he watched a man hesitate at the doorway, scouting the crowd. He was probably in his mid-forties, dark haired, dark eyed and dressed like everyone else in here. Good looking, too. Ed's gaze gravitated towards the simple tattoo on the man's cheek, and he drew in a breath. It was the same array that had been painted around the bloodied bed.

Ed shifted, letting a swathe of his loose hair fall forward. The flash of gold was enough to catch the eye, and he could feel the heat of Booker's hungry gaze on him, taking in his clothes and the body beneath them.

It was instinctive to hunch away from that scrutiny but Ed held his ground, letting him look. He was used to being covered from head to toe, and the cool breeze raised a chill along his bare left arm and shoulder. The top he wore curved around his torso and covered the automail and its associated scars beneath black fabric. One or two strategic rips showed glimpses of his stomach, and the hem didn't quite meet his belt. His right hand was gloved, and the leather pants were only slightly different from those that he wore everyday.

He looked like he belonged here. He'd made sure of that. If anyone cared to look closely they would see other touches that gave credibility to his appearance, like the ring in his lip and at the top of his ear, but Booker had obviously seen enough.

The man sauntered closer, never losing eye contact. Ed expected him to be wary and distrustful, but he was arrogantly confident, as if he thought no one would ever catch him. A faint scar carved along the line of his jaw, and there was an edge of restlessness to his movements, as if he were on the high of his life. The hot, metallic stench of alchemy washed over Ed as Booker stopped in front of him, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with awareness.

He reached out, taking Ed's glass from his loose grasp and setting it aside before giving a wolfish grin, lustful and dangerous.

It was tempting to attack, to take him down and get out, but there was no way Ed could be sure that he'd succeed. If Booker got a chance to activate any kind of array, he could blow this place apart, killing Ed and everyone else within fifty feet. His stolen power made the air seethe, and Ed knew he couldn't give the fucker a chance to put it to good use. He would have to play along for now, at least until they were outside.

Booker reached out, brushing Ed's loose hair back behind his ear before bracing his palms against the wall on either side of Ed's head. A snarl threatened to rumble from Ed's throat, a warning to the stranger to back off, but he forced it back and held himself still. If he did anything that suggested he wasn't as drunk and suggestible as everyone else in here, then this whole thing would fall apart and the bastard would either run or fight. He needed to act like he was interested, but his mind kept returning to the dead teenagers and fury clenched hard and hot in his gut.

'I can give you what you want,' Booker husked, his voice a rough-edged purr as he gave a smoky, mysterious smile. 'Whatever you need, I'll make sure it's yours.'

Ed kept his silence, knowing that if he said a word it would be full of rage. Better to let Booker think he was too far gone to speak. Instead he blinked up at the alchemist, trying to feel anything other than bile and loathing. He wasn't good at acting. People could always tell when he was lying; his face was too expressive and gave everything away. He needed to be convincing, and the only way that was going to happen was if he pretended that it was someone else pinning him to the wall, someone he actually wanted to take to bed.

In this light Booker's hair and eyes could have been black, and it wasn't hard to imagine a different man in his place. The thought of Mustang leaning over him like this was enough to change the quality of the heat in Ed's body. It sank lower, spreading down between his legs, and he felt the familiar prickle of want dance over his skin as he dredged up every enticing fragment of memory he had.

It didn't matter that he and Mustang had never been more than commanding officer and subordinate, that they'd never kissed or even touched. For now his imagination served its purpose, giving his body language a more realistic edge.

He licked his lips, letting them curve in a secretive smile. Tipping his head to the side, Ed exposed his throat as he looked up Booker, submissive and inviting. Dark eyes flickered to the skin over his pulse, and Ed clung desperately to his fantasy as Booker lowered his head to press a kiss over the hammering beat. Lips became teeth, biting hard in a way that made Ed's body jerk in pain, but Booker took it for need instead, making a rough sound of appreciation in Ed's ear.

No one in their right mind would let someone they barely knew do this to them, but Ed knew that was what the alchemist was counting on. Everyone here was too far gone to do anything but respond to their basic instincts. Booker seduced them and they followed him home, like lambs to the fucking slaughter.

And Ed was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

A hand shifted, skimming down his bare arm before circling his wrist firmly, tugging him away from the wall. Ed let himself stumble, making every step deliberately uncoordinated as he followed Booker's lead between the other patrons and up the steps that led to the outside world. The entrance to "The Pyre" was down a secluded alley, gloomy in the weak dawn light. There was no one with them but a handful of down-and-outs, and Ed glanced quickly in their direction before turning back to Booker.

The whole thing still had the potential to go horribly wrong. If he fucked this up now and Booker got away, then they would probably lose their only chance of catching the bastard. He had to choose his moment. If he could just get a bit closer... .

Twisting his hand around, Ed snagged at the man's sleeve, pulling him up short. He turned, his expression taking on an appreciative edge as Ed gave him a promising look and moved forward, making sure to give himself just enough room to act. Curling his gloved hand in the fabric of Booker's black shirt, Ed tipped his face upwards, biting his lip in a parody of faint uncertainty.

Booker didn't wait for any further invitation. His right hand caught Ed's jaw in a bruising grip, holding him still as he pressed a hard, desperate kiss to Ed's mouth. His other palm skimmed down Ed's ribs, reaching down and around to give a firm, lustful squeeze.

In a flash, Ed brought his automail knee up between Booker's legs, grinning in satisfaction as he wheezed in agony and fell to the ground. A quick, solid punch to the temple sent him toppling over, limp and unconscious.

'Shit, you didn't kill him did you? Trust me, the paperwork involved isn't worth the satisfaction.' One of the bums got to his feet, peeling away rags to reveal the uniform of the civilian police, Ed's backup.

'He'll be okay,' Ed said confidently, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and trying not to shudder in revulsion. 'At least, his head will be. Can't say the same for his dick.'

The officer discarded the last of his disguise, waiting for his colleagues to do the same before bending down and grabbing Booker's arms. 'He deserved it,' he muttered darkly. 'You did a good job, sir. Normally working with the military is a pain in the arse, but – well, I don't think we could have done it without you.'

'It was easier than I thought it would be,' Ed murmured, frowning down at Booker. 'He didn't think that anyone suspected him. It made him stupid.'

'Yeah, well, better that he's stupid and in jail than smart and on the streets, right?' The officer smiled at him before adding, 'The chief wants to see you. He should be waiting out in the street. Hey, Murry, grab his feet, will you?'

Heading towards the alley mouth, Ed eyed the three cars parked at the kerb. A slender, wispy man stood beside one of them, hands folded neatly in front of him as he waited for news. The chief of police. He was a stuck up arrogant git who hated the military and everything associated with it. For the past week that they had been hunting Booker, he had made Ed's life a misery of paperwork and Ed didn't bother to hide his scowl as he approached.

It wasn't until Booker had been bundled into the back of the car that the chief gave a tight nod of acknowledgement. 'We will hand him over to military custody as soon as we have completed our investigation, Major,' he said, twitching his thin moustache. 'I'm sure the firing squad can wait a day or so before filling him with holes.'

He looked over his shoulder, his expression distasteful as he took in the slumped figure. 'You did well, and I am thankful that the military has been so cooperative. I suspect that if he had not been state-certified they wouldn't have been interested.'

'Probably not,' Ed muttered. 'Normally the army doesn't give a shit about your problems.'

The chief scowled, straightening his back and fixing Ed with a particularly hard glare. 'But, for some unfathomable reason, they do care about you. I received a phone-call from your commanding officer. It seems that you didn't inform him of your latest role in this operation.' His gaze flickered down to Ed's feet and back up to his face, something ugly twisting his face. 'He instead received notification from the Intelligence division. I think it is safe to say that he is not impressed. He ordered you back to the office immediately.'

'When did he call?' Ed asked warily, narrowing his eyes. He had hoped to be able to hand Mustang a report detailing Booker's arrest and skip the details of how he took him into custody. So much for that idea.

The smile widened. 'About three hours ago. He's been waiting at Central Command.' He opened the car, reaching in to retrieve a stack of paperwork almost an inch thick. 'You'll also need to fill in these forms to confirm that you used no more force than necessary. After all, I wouldn't want you to be accused of brutality.'

Ed snatched them from his grasp, giving him a furious glare. This was why he hated working with the civilian police force: too much red tape. It didn't happen often, but occasionally a high profile killer with connections to the military would turn up, and the authorities wouldn't hand over complete jurisdiction to the army. This was the result: a state-alchemist doing all the work while the police took the credit. Fuckers.

'Good night, Fullmetal. I shall be sure to pass on my evaluation of your involvement to your commanding officer.'

'Don't bother,' Ed muttered. 'He doesn't do his paperwork.'

The slam of the car door punctuated the morning peace, and Ed watched the dark vehicle pull away and move swiftly down the street. He probably wouldn't see Booker again. The cops were right about the firing squad. The military didn't like to be embarrassed by state alchemists past or present, and they would make sure that the people of Central knew he had been punished for his crimes.

With a weary sigh, Ed began to wander towards Central Command. The sun was rising steadily, burning off the damp mist that clung to the street. A shiver unwound across his skin, and he picked up the pace, shoving his hands in his pockets as he tried to keep warm. His head felt foggy and clogged with incense and smoke, and he took several deep breaths, trying to clear out his lungs.

Ideally, he wanted a shower and a good night's sleep, but he knew better than to test his luck by keeping Mustang waiting any longer. As it was the bastard was probably going to be utterly scathing. He hated being in the office at the best of times, and if the police chief was right then Ed's actions had dragged him back to work at three or four in the morning. 'Fuck,' Ed hissed to himself. Scathing didn't cover it, Mustang was going to be a furious ice-statue, chilling and sarcastic.

Grimacing, he hurried past the sentry, ignoring the soldier's incredulous expression. Within moments Ed had crossed the parade ground, and he took the steps two at a time before pushing open the door and slipping into the corridor beyond.

Thankfully it wasn't too busy, and he managed to avoid meeting anyone who outranked him. If he had then he would instantly have been questioned and disciplined for his appearance. The military were flexible up to a point, at least where he was concerned, but there was no way any officer would take his current state in their stride.

Reaching the outer office door, he hesitated, hearing the voices inside. It sounded like most of Mustang's command were already in, and they weren't sounding too happy about an early start. He could hear Breda talking with his mouth full, and Havoc gave a loud yawn as if he had just been dragged out of bed.

With a grunt of irritation Ed pushed his way inside, pitching the stack of paperwork onto Hawkeye's desk as a heavy, clanging silence fell across the room. Breda had a doughnut halfway to his open mouth and was staring at Ed in disbelief. Havoc was literally gaping, eyes wide and jaw slack. Even Hawkeye's normally calm composure was rattled. Her eyebrows were almost at her hairline, so blatantly surprised that it was almost funny.

As for Falman, he looked like he was going to have a heart attack. Quite likely, considering how Ed was breaking almost every uniform rule ever written.

'What are you -?' Fuery's voice trailed off as he pushed his glasses up his nose, blinking several times in rapid succession.

'Edward, that is hardly suitable attire for work,' Hawkeye's voice was flat and calm, but it sounded a little distant, as if she was struggling to find her voice.

'I've been in "The Pyre" all night trying to find Booker,' Ed muttered defensively. 'I was told Mustang couldn't wait until I'd changed for a report. Is he in there?'

'Yeah,' Havoc croaked. 'Did you just say "The Pyre"? What the hell, boss? You shouldn't be in a place like that, dressed like _that_. People might – they could -' He stammered to a halt before mumbling, 'They could get the wrong idea.'

Ed shrugged dismissively and turned away, closing the distance to Mustang's office door and reaching out to grab the handle. He wished he didn't have to face the arrogant git dressed like this. Even when fully-clothed Mustang's intense gaze made him feel naked and exposed, but wearing this?

With a sigh Ed squared his shoulders and pushed the door aside. He might as well get it over with.

* * *

Roy paced in front of the fire, pausing only to glare at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was more than three hours since he had called the chief of police and demanded the immediate presence of his subordinate, and there was still no sign of him.

What the hell was Ed thinking? Sometimes he thought that Fullmetal didn't fully grasp the concept of danger. He always seemed to throw himself at it, teeth gritted and ready to fight. Didn't he realise there were some things he could leave to other people? Didn't he know there were some risks he didn't have to take?

He ran his hand through his hair, pausing to stare unseeingly into the flames. Didn't Ed realise that this could go badly wrong? Booker was not some common street thug; Roy had read through the files. Even when he got his state certification there were mutterings about his conduct. There had been suspicions, missing people, accusations of rape … . It was overlooked, because the military could turn a blind eye to anything if they thought they could benefit from their ignorance. Booker's research was intriguing, but before long it grew more dangerous, more intense, and he was discharged.

Only the army would feel comfortable letting someone like Booker out into the general populace. He had disappeared for years, only to turn up now like a bad penny. This time there weren't any suspicions – bloody bed sheets and corpses in the basement – the evidence spoke for itself.

And Ed had handed himself over on a platter. _Take me, I'm yours._

Roy had given up trying to work hours ago. It was useless. He couldn't concentrate when every fear jabbered a dreadful litany in his mind. What if it went wrong? What if Ed was victim number five? Would he get a call from the police? Would someone come and tell him? He didn't even know what he was waiting for any more.

He swore, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Nausea rolled in his stomach, fed by his anxiety. Worry was an emotion that over-rode all pretences, obliterating them like a tsunami crashing into the coast.

'Where are you, you stupid, impossible brat?'

Until tonight Roy had happily fooled himself that his concern for Ed was that of a superior officer, and he had dutifully pretended that the hot buzz in his blood was frustration or anger rather than desire. Under those masks he could function, but now were gone, torn away by his fears.

If this was simply a case of lust, of sex and sharp, blissful satisfaction then he would have found a way to deal with it, but what he felt for Ed was not that simple. Of course he wanted him, denying that now was nothing short of insanity, but he didn't just want him in his bed. He wanted him in his life.

He didn't care for Ed as a young man under his command; what he felt was neither paternal or brotherly. All the reasons for his anger and fear were selfish, because if Ed had underestimated Booker, if he ended up dead because of this, then he would be gone, and Roy would be left with nothing.

The thought of that loss was vice-like, hard around his heart and icy in his stomach. Ed destroyed his rationality, bringing all of his unpredictable emotions to the fore. This reaction was a prime example of why Ed was so dangerous for him. He made him feel too much and tore at his control, reducing him to a helpless, needy version of his former self.

Voices in the outer office made him lift his head sharply, and he narrowed his eyes at the closed door as he heard Fullmetal's familiar rough tones. Relief bloomed in his chest, and he crushed it mercilessly, straightening his shoulders as he waited.

He could not show Ed even a fraction of his concern. This was about a superior officer reprimanding a subordinate who could not acknowledge the basic hierarchy in the military. This was him informing Fullmetal of his intense disappointment and annoyance at having not been kept informed of all the events pertaining to an assignment. This was business.

It was not – _not_ – personal, no matter how much his screaming heart said otherwise.

The door swung open and Roy's breath caught in his throat, trapping the first words of his reprimand on his tongue. His mind froze, wiped completely blank as he stared at the young man on the far side of his office.

It was Ed, no one else had that colour hair or those startling eyes, but he had never, ever looked like _this_ before.

His appearance was artful in a haphazard kind of way. The automail was neatly hidden from sight, but his left arm and shoulder were completely exposed, honey-kissed in the mellow light of the office. The top he was wearing looked like it had been given to a chimera before he put it on. Neat, parallel slashes showed suggestions of flesh, and his trousers were slung dangerously low and snug around his hips. Its hem flirted with the waistband of the leather pants, almost covering everything, but not quite.

Hastily Roy looked back up to his face, feeling a jolt of surprise as he realised that a piercing created a vertical line of silver down the middle of Ed's bottom lip. Self-consciously, Ed tucked his hair back, revealing another ring through the cartilage at the top of his left ear. Individually, each aspect was intriguing, but when put together and applied to Ed... .

Roy barely managed to smother a wanton noise in his throat as he met Ed's eyes. Eyeliner. He was wearing eyeliner. Subtle, dark outlines elongated the shape of his eyes and picked out the darker amber tones of his iris, brightening the warm yellow to a startling, edgy gold.

A sudden image flashed through Roy's mind: Ed pressed back against his pillows, hair wild, head thrown back and that liner smudged by his touches and the heady sweat of sex.

He swallowed tightly against the dryness in his mouth, trying to ignore the fire that flared in his stomach as if a match had been dropped in a pool of gasoline. It trickled lower, making him shift his weight uncomfortably as his body began to respond to the desire that licked along his nerves.

Ed lifted his hands to his hair, pulling it back into a high ponytail and fastening it with a band that he had pulled out of his pocket. The hem of his t-shirt rode up, revealing a broad swathe of muscled stomach, and Roy's eyes sank down again, one eyebrow arching curiously as he noticed a dark shape on the hollow by Ed's hip bone. It was a tattoo of some kind, and it dipped seductively below his waistband, down and out of sight.

'What?' Ed asked defensively, making Roy lift his head with a jerk. He pulled the ring off of his lip – not a real piercing then – and turning it idly in his fingers. 'I don't know what your problem is. You asked me to catch Booker. I was following your orders.'

'That would be a first,' Roy managed, relieved that his voice sounded almost normal. It was a little tight and hoarse, but he cleared his throat as he stepped away and turned his back. The sight of Ed had briefly made him forget why he had summoned him here in the first place, but shimmying desire twisted into anger as he stared out of the window. 'Your orders were to help the civilian police force make an arrest, not use yourself as bait in a trap.'

He could see Ed reflected in the glass, and Roy watched him shrug as if his safety was irrelevant. 'Who cares? It worked.'

'That's not the point!' It wasn't a shout, not quite, but there was enough force in his words to make Ed jerk his head up in surprise. 'Did you even think twice about what might happen to you if it didn't work? If Booker got his hands on you and you couldn't take him down, did you even stop to consider what he could do to you?'

Roy turned around to face him again, watching Ed round his shoulders uncomfortably as he continued. 'At best he would have killed you there and then. At worst he could have used you in his experiments and then slit your throat. He murdered four other people, Fullmetal. Did you really think he wasn't dangerous?'

'They were just kids.'

'They were your age!'

'You know what I mean!' Ed snapped, turning his head away and clenching his jaw. 'Everyone in that place was drunk and high. They wouldn't know how to say no, and Booker took advantage of that.'

'So you're telling me that you stood in second hand drug smoke for six hours and it had no affect on you?' He glanced more closely at Ed's face, but his expression was clear and the mind behind his eyes seemed sharp enough.

'I was by a window,' Ed retorted. 'I knew what I was doing. Besides, if he wanted to use me in his experiments he would have to get his cock in my arse, and that was never going to happen, not for him.'

Ed's coarse words made Roy wince, but he said nothing as he took in Ed's profile, his thoughts working quick and fast. He always listened hard to what people were saying, and he doubted Ed even realised what he had revealed.

"Not for him." So he wouldn't have sex with a man like Booker, but someone else was a possibility?

'He could have drugged you,' he said softly, fighting back a trace of a frightened whine in his voice as Ed shook his head in denial. 'Not necessarily something in your drink, Ed, but with a needle or god knows what. You would have been defenceless, and I wouldn't have known enough of what was going on to help you.'

'Booker was confident and stupid with it,' Ed replied, his voice flat. 'He didn't think anyone was onto him, and he wasn't prepared for any kind of resistance.'

'And if he had been?'

'I had back up,' he pointed out quietly. 'It's not like I did it completely on my own.'

Roy sighed tiredly. He had been worrying for hours. Ever since Hughes had called him at home to notify him of the situation, his body had been pinned by thorny bars of concern, and now the flow of relief was leaving him drained. 'I should have been there,' he stated. 'I should have known! Why the hell didn't you tell me what you were planning?'

'Would you have let me do it?' Ed looked back at him defiantly, his arms folded across his chest as he waited.

Definitely not. He wouldn't have let Ed within ten paces of a place like "The Pyre" if he had the choice, and he didn't want him within one hundred miles of a man like Booker. 'No,' he admitted. 'I would have ordered you to leave it to the police.'

'So you're happy to send me on one assignment after the other where I end up half-dead, but not that?'

'I never knowingly put you in blatant danger,' Roy retorted, hurt that Ed could think otherwise. His words skirted a growl that made Ed tense noticeably. 'This wasn't you falling into trouble, Ed. This was you making a choice to put yourself in the sights of a serial killer. If it hadn't worked, he could have hurt you in so many ways.'

Roy narrowed his eyes as fear gripped him. Just because Ed was standing here, that did not mean he was unharmed. Forcing himself to concentrate, he looked beyond the clothes and make-up to the young man underneath. He should have searched for any sign of injury as soon as Ed had walked in the door, but he had been too distracted.

A dark red mark over Ed's pulse caught his eye, half-hidden in the hollow of his jaw.

Not a bruise. A bite.

Roy's mind fell still, filled from one edge to the other with a snarling, raging roar that hummed along his nerves and surged through his blood. In three strides he crossed the office, reaching out to turn Ed's head to the side. It took all of his willpower not to let his anger seep out into his grip, to stop his fingertips from bruising and keep his breathing steady. He managed, but it was impossible to prevent the hoarseness in his voice as he demanded, 'What the hell, Ed? You let him get close enough to bite you? What else did he do? Where else did he touch you?'

Silence filled the office, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the grate. Roy had lit it for comfort in the dark hours of the early morning, and now it mimicked the bite and burn of his rage. He wasn't even sure who it was directed at: Fullmetal, for putting himself in danger, or Booker for _daring_ to lay a finger on Ed.

He could feel the fast, hard thrum of Ed's pulse beneath his fingertips and see the uncertainty in his eyes. There was no answer, but very gently Ed reached up, clasping his left hand around Roy's wrist and pulling himself free of his grasp. He looked up with puzzled, narrowed eyes, a faint frown lining his forehead as he scrutinised Roy's expression.

'Why does it matter to you?' he asked quietly, his voice belying more than just curiosity.

Roy swallowed, realising how close they were standing. He could feel the heat radiating from Ed's body and smell the incense that lingered in his hair. Warm fingers still looped around his wrist, their tips pressed softly against the hammering, racing beat in the vulnerable underside of Roy's arm.

Anger and desire tangled together, warring for supremacy, too strong and similar to deny. He licked his dry lips, trying to cling onto his shaky control as Ed's gaze followed the movement. 'I take an interest in the well-being of all of my men.'

'Not like this.' Ed tipped his head slightly to the side, and part of Roy's mind knew that it was an instinctively trusting gesture, an unconscious physical request for Roy to open up to him. 'You don't get so-' He paused, searching for the truth in Roy's features. '- territorial over anyone else. Why me?'

Roy's breathing turned uneven and shallow as something light and heady fluttered beneath his ribs.

Slowly, Ed moved his hand, sending it hushing up Roy's uniform sleeve to curl in his collar, pulling at him gently. 'Why me?' he asked again, voice broken down to a pleading whisper.

Not even a scrap of resistance remained as Roy cupped his hand around the back of Ed's neck. The ponytail tickled his skin as he stroked Ed's nape, giving him one second to pull away or protest. He didn't. He stood perfectly still, pupils dilated and eyes darkened to beaten bronze within their stormy outlines, waiting.

The words on the tip of his tongue were "because I love you", but he did not dare let them out. They said too much, spoke of hope and trust and promises, and he didn't have the courage for that. Not yet. Instead he gave the only response he could, dipping his head those last few inches to press his lips to Ed's.

It was supposed to be something chaste, a tentative outlet for all the feeling that slammed against his core, but the flicker of Ed's tongue over his bottom lip dragged a rough sound from his throat, wiping away the last tattered ruins of his restraint.

Ed's automail hand tightened on his waist, pulling him closer until his slimmer hips were cradled between Roy's. He could feel a hardening length pressing against his own erection, hot and demanding, and a tight shiver tore its way down his body.

With a gentle tug on Ed's hair he changed the angle, nipping softly with his teeth before taking a taste. A husky sound of approval rasped in Ed's throat, and he answered with one of his own as he curled an arm around Ed's waist, resting his palm against the base of his spine. Muscles flexed beneath his touch as he dipped a finger tentatively below Ed's belt.

No underwear, nothing but skin, and he groaned helplessly as Ed arched into him before breaking away. He made a bereft sound at the distance, opening his eyes to look down into Ed's face, taking in the flushed cheeks and swollen lips that parted around ragged, tight breaths.

'That's why,' Roy managed, curving both hands around Ed's waist, although whether it was to stop him from running or to hold him a little at bay he wasn't sure. 'If anyone else had asked for permission to catch Booker like that, I would have let them do it, but I can't risk losing you. I care about you.'

For a moment Ed didn't say anything, and Roy dimly realised it was probably the first time he had ever been speechless in his presence. Normally he always had a retort, but this time he was just staring as if he wasn't sure that any of this was really happening.

He bit his lip, watching Roy with wary eyes. 'But you - could get into trouble for "caring", couldn't you?' he asked at last, swallowing tightly and taking one step backwards so that he was just out of Roy's reach. 'From the army, I mean.'

He could, Ed wasn't wrong. If they ever found out that he had even one less-than-professional encounter with a subordinate, he could be charged with fraternisation and dishonourably discharged. It would spell the end to everything he had been working so hard years to achieve, and he would never be Fuhrer.

For the first time in his life, that threat meant nothing.

Mutely, he held out his hand, waiting for Ed to take it before pulling him closer again and cupping his chin, running the pad of his thumb along his lip. For anyone else, there would be no question: he would live without them and focus on his goals because they could never be enough to him to be worth the loss of his future. But Edward was different.

'I won't risk everything for just once, Ed,' He faltered, taking a deep breath before plunging on, 'but if – if you want to see if this could be something more, then that's a chance I want to take.'

Ed's fingers tightened around his, making him look up. His face was determined, and there was more than just a flicker of uncertainty in his expression, but it faded away as he closed the last bit of distance between them.

Reaching up, he curved his fingers in Roy's hair, standing on tiptoes as he whispered. 'I'm good at keeping secrets.'

'Is that a yes?'

He felt Ed's lips curve in a smile and sucked in a breath as teeth nipped at the corner of his mouth, followed by a hot flash of tongue.

'Yes.'

* * *

Sunlight blazed through the window, heralding a warm, lazy, Sunday afternoon. It pooled on the bedroom floor, creating dazzling highlights and dark shadows amidst the rumpled sheets and sprawling like molten gold across Ed's bare skin.

Roy smiled drowsily, sighing into the pillow. It had been more than three years since Ed had walked into his office wearing black clothes and a lip ring, and he had kept his word: their secret had stayed safe, and their relationship had flourished.

Now there was no need for deceit. Ed wasn't part of the military any more, and while the generals may mutter behind their hands about Major-General Mustang's penchant for one young man in particular, no one dared to deride him for his choices. After all, they could tell which way the wind was blowing, and no one wanted to be on the wrong side of a man heavily tipped to be Fuhrer one day.

Slowly, he traced a fingertip along Ed's side and over his hip, lingering on the tattoo. It was the only part of the disguise he had worn that night that was genuine. Roy traced its inky outline, and his smile took on a feral edge as he let his gaze roam his lover's face.

His lips were still swollen from kiss after kiss, and his hair was wild across the white expanse of the pillow. Warm skin was still slightly dewy from exertion, and his muscles were lax and sated. Ed was always beautiful, but right now one thing made him look like sex personified:

Smudged eyeliner.

**_End_**


End file.
